


Where the Heart Is

by DesireeArmfeldt



Category: due South
Genre: Angst, Challenge Response, Comfort, Friendship, Ghosts, Grief/Mourning, POV Multiple, POV Third Person Limited, Post-Call of the Wild, Post-Canon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-03-21
Updated: 2014-03-21
Packaged: 2018-01-16 10:40:15
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,413
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1344451
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DesireeArmfeldt/pseuds/DesireeArmfeldt
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The Quest has gone horribly wrong; the results are unexpected.</p><p>Angst-to-hope ratio: Medium-to-high (or: Sad, But Not Quite As Depressing As The Other Fic I Wrote With The Same Premise)</p>
            </blockquote>





	Where the Heart Is

**Author's Note:**

  * For [ButterflyGhost](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ButterflyGhost/gifts).



> This is...not exactly a remix of the very first fic I posted to fan-flashworks, [Our Only Home Is Bone](http://archiveofourown.org/works/357735). I originally had two ideas for fic based on a single premise.  I wrote and posted Our Only Home Is Bone first.  I wrote this second story shortly afterwards, got it nearly finished, and then for a number of reasons which don't need exploring at this juncture, it languished in the WIP folder for two years.  As part of Spring Cleaning 2014, I have finally resuscitated it, and here it is!  Not a remix per se but a re-vision of a premise I've already envisioned once.  Thanks to seascribe for playing guinea pig and helping me rescue this fic from oblivion!
> 
> Also: tags are hard. This is more slashy than gen but less slashy than actual slash. Decide for yourselves what you think these people's relationships are!

Ray Kowalski has never really thought much about death, which is maybe surprising, since in his job, the chances are good of ending up dead sooner rather than later.  He definitely hasn’t given much thought to what happens after you die.  Dead is dead, he always figured.  End of story, lights out, what’s to think about? 

If he _had_ thought about it, he wouldn’t have laid money on harps and clouds and Saint Peter.  On the other hand, he wouldn’t have laid money on coming back as a ghost, either.  And yet, here he is, and a ghost is pretty much the only word for what he seems to be.

Given that, he doesn’t know what the hell he’s doing _here._

When his personal lights went out for the last-except-not-really-last time, Ray was surrounded by white and black and blue, with the grey backs of the dogs running in front of him and the wind biting his face and Fraser on skis a dark blot inching up the next hill up ahead.

Here, now, Ray is surrounded by flat green and brown with bursts of bright color; highways and ugly-ass developments and strip malls.  Not cold, but sticky-hot (Ray can’t feel the weather, but he can see it in the sweat on people’s faces and the way their clothes stick to them if they venture out of the air conditioning, which they mostly don’t).  And instead of Fraser, Ray’s looking at Stella.

She’s the only one who can see or hear him.  And she doesn’t want to.

She’s been great about it; better than he had any right to expect.  But it’s driving her nuts; Ray can see that.  For one thing, there’s the whole ex-husband issue.  She didn’t have much patience for Ray trailing after her back in Chicago, and even though it’s _not his fault_ now, it still pisses her off.  And then there’s the whole no-one-else-can-see-Ray issue.  In movies, when people talk to ghosts no one else can see, it’s funny.  In real life, people look at Stella like she’s crazy, which upsets her and makes Ray sick.

“Ray,” she says, sitting on her bed to take off her work shoes.  “It’s sweet that you’re still here, but—“

“Stell, I’m _trying_ , I promise you.  I’m not stalking you, I just don’t know how to _leave._ ”

She sighs.  They’ve had this conversation about a million times, until they’re both sick of it. 

“I understand that, Ray.  It just seems like maybe you could be trying harder to figure it out.”

“Jeez, you sound like I’ve been unemployed on the couch for months and you want me to get my ass out the door and find a job.  But apparently somebody up there thinks you and me got unfinished business.”

A year ago, if you’d told Ray he was going to be haunting someone after he died, he would have assumed that person would be Stella, no question.  And honestly, he would have thought that was a pretty great deal: romantic, all that crap.  But he finally managed to get _over_ his obsession with Stella, like she and everyone else in the world wanted him to.  He’s moved on.  Except apparently the universe didn’t get the memo.

“Ray, I’ve told you already, I’m willing to talk about whatever you want, if you think it will help, but as far as I’m concerned, there’s nothing unfinished.  Maybe you just have to accept—”

“I do, I accept it, Stella, honest to God, I do.  Believe me, I’d scram if I could.” 

“I know,” she says, more gently than before, but she’s shaking her head as she says it.  “It’s just that it’s getting difficult, and you can see it’s causing problems between me and Ray—“

“Well, it’s no barrel of laughs for me, here, playing invisible third wheel—“

“Are you sure about that?  After all, it wouldn’t be surprising if you were jealous of Ray, given everything that happened—“

“Oh, for Christ’s sake!”  Ray wishes he were really here, so he could have the satisfaction of smacking something good and hard.  “You think I’m here because I’ve got unresolved issues to work out with _Vecchio?_ That ain’t even funny!”

“Well, maybe you’d better think about it,” she snaps.

“I got no beef with Vecchio,” he insists.  “I got a little freaked out when he showed up and took his life back, okay, I admit that, but it was just ‘cause I didn’t have any _warning_ , and. . .”  What the hell, he always used to be able to talk to Stella, and it’s not like it matters what she thinks of him now, he’s _dead_.  “I, uh, I thought he’d take Fraser, you know, ‘cause partners with Fraser, that was Vecchio’s job, part of the whole Vecchio package.  But I’d gotten to thinking Fraser was. . .mine, that I could keep him.  And guess what?  Turns out I was right about that, after all.  So I don’t have a problem with Vecchio.  I don’t want to mess up his life, and I really don’t want to mess up yours, Stell.  I want to be up in the Northwest Areas, on a dogsled with Fraser.  And I cannot fucking fathom what I am doing here, instead.”

He slumps against the wall, feeling like a tire with the air let out.  (Apparently not really being here doesn’t mean you can’t lean on stuff.)  
Stella just looks at him for a long time, trying not to cry, or maybe she’s just as fucking exhausted as he is.

After a while, she turns her back on him and walks out of the room.  He trails after her, because that’s what he does these days.

 

                     *                                                *                                                *

 

Stella stands in the doorway of the living room.  Ray—Ray Vecchio, Stella’s current, living husband, Ray—looks up at her with a mixture of wariness and concern.

“Hey. . .everything all right?”

She has to admit he has every right to be worried, after the way she’s been behaving recently.  She doesn’t think she’s done too much in front of him that makes her look outright crazy; she learned pretty quickly not to talk back to the ghost of Ray Kowalski in front of other people.  But that just means she’s been spending a lot of time locking herself ‘alone’ in the bedroom or the bathroom so she can talk to him in private.  And the whole weird situation has done a number on her, emotionally.  From her husband’s point of view, it must look like she’s having some kind of nervous breakdown: moody, distracted, hiding from him, talking to herself, crying in the bathroom.  And none of it’s remotely his fault, but she hasn’t had the mental or emotional reserves to try to take care of him.  Dealing with Ray Kowalski demands everything she’s got; Ray was always like that, and him being a ghost doesn’t make it any easier.

Stella smiles tiredly at her husband, resolutely not glancing behind her to see if her ex is watching.

“It’s been a long. . .day, week,” she says.  “I could use a drink.”

Ray gets up to mix her one as she slumps down on the couch.  He hands it to her, then puts his arm around her and starts gently rubbing the back of her neck.

“What’s on your mind, hon?” he asks.

“Nothing,” she says.  “I just. . .I don’t know, I’ve been thinking about a lot of old memories recently, and it’s kind of thrown me off-balance.  Don’t worry, I’m not going to sneak off to Chicago or anything.”  She can’t help stealing a glance to see how the other Ray reacts to that.  To her surprise, he’s staring out the window, his back to her.

The Ray beside her brushes her hair tenderly off her forehead.  “Hey, we’ve both got our baggage, I know that.  I just wish there was something I could do to help.”

She leans back against his chest and pulls his arms around her.  “I chose you.  I chose to be here.  I want this.”

“Me too,” he whispers into her hair.

“Ray?” she asks after a while.  In her peripheral vision, the figure by the window jerks, but he says nothing.

“Yeah?” responds her husband.

“You saw some weird things when you were a cop, right?  I mean, things no one would believe?  Like some of those cases you’ve told me about, with Constable Fraser. . . ?”

“Oh, yeah, if it was weird, Fraser would get mixed up in it.  Guy attracted weird like flypaper.  And then he’d get me mixed up in it.”

“Did you and Constable Fraser ever meet anyone who thought they could see ghosts?”

There’s a pause before Ray answers, and when he does, his voice is a little flustered. 

“Sure.  We ran into a lot of nutjobs.  Psychics, alien-hunters, you name it.”

“Anyone you thought was for real?”

Another hesitation, then Ray says, looking down at his hands, “Yeah, I met a guy once who thought he had this ghost that popped by to visit from time to time.  Why, what’s this all about?”

“Did he ever say anything about how to get rid—how to get a ghost to move on?  To the afterlife or. . .wherever they go?”

“Nothing so handy.  Why, you been seeing ghosts?”  Ray laughs jocularly, but there’s something a little off about his laughter, like he’s trying a little too hard.  Under other circumstances, Stella might write it off as Ray’s usual over-eagerness to entertain, to please, to be liked.  Under the current circumstances, it’s downright suspicious.

“Well, what if I did?” she asks.  “As a hypothetical question.  How would I find out how to make it stop?”

“Hell if I know.  Fraser’d be the one who could quote you chapter and verse on Ye Olde Booke Of Exorcism or whatever.  He bought into the weird stuff; I just got dragged along for the ride.”  Ray shrugs.  “We could call him and ask, if you really want to know.  Except, no, we can’t, because he’s off in the butt end of nowhere with Kowalski and a dogsled, having the Canadian version of fun.”

There’s a strangled noise from the window.  Stella’s head turns involuntarily in that direction.  Her ex has his hands over his face, his back still turned to the room.

“What’s wrong?” Ray asks, sitting up straight.  He couldn’t have heard anything, but he’s still got a cop’s hair-trigger instinct for danger.

“Sh, nothing,” she soothes.  “I’m just on edge.”

“You sure?”

“Oh, just tell him if you want,” Ray’s ragged voice cuts in from across the room.  “It’ll cut short the comedy act if nothing else.”

“You’re not—“ she snaps, then bites her tongue on the rest of the sentence.  _You’re not the one he’ll think is crazy._

Ray Kowalski gives an ironic snort as Ray Vecchio leans back to look at her with bewildered concern.

“Stella?  Are you. . .you’re not. . . ?”

“What?”

“Are you all right?”

“Not really,” she sighs.

“All this hypothetical ghost talk isn’t so hypothetical, is it?” he asks.  “You’ve got one.”

Stella boggles at him.

From the window, a bark of laughter.  “He worked with Fraser two years, you bet he’s seen weirder things than me.  Hey, a ghost?  What’s the big deal?”

“I—yes,” she tells her husband.  “Yes, I’m seeing a ghost.  He’s over there, in fact.”

Ray Vecchio peers in the direction she’s pointing, then shrugs apologetically.

“And all these questions about Benny?  That wasn’t random, was it?  Oh, shit, it’s not _him_ you’re—“

“Of course not,” she says.  “Why would Constable Fraser haunt me, of all people?  I barely knew the man.”

There’s a moment of silence, in which Stella’s stomach slowly flips over.

“Knew?”  Ray Kowalski whispers.

“Oh, shit,” says Ray Vecchio quietly.

Stella looks from one Ray to the other; they stare back at her with identical gut-shot expressions on their faces.

 

                     *                                                *                                                *

 

Ray Vecchio hates tiny little airplanes.  He hates the cold, he hates the big blank wilderness of white that is Fraser’s homeland.  He hates ghosts, how they pop up when you least expect them and offer unwanted advice and make you look like an idiot and make your wife cry, how dead people can’t seem to just stay decently dead and buried any more.  And he really, really hates feeling terrified and helpless while he waits to find out whether he’s going to have to bury his best friend.

The plane lurches; Ray clutches the seat as it banks sickeningly.  The window’s solid, he reminds himself; he can’t actually fall out.

“Spotted something,” the pilot yells over his shoulder.  “About ten o’clock.  I’ll circle lower, check it out.”

Ray presses the binoculars to the tiny window.  All he can see is white with occasional splotches of black or brown—no, wait, there’s a smudge down there that’s moving.  The plane banks and comes around again, flying lower now, and—

“Yes!  There’s somebody down there!”  Ray yells.

It seems like a million years before the pilot gets the plane down in the middle of all that snow (and Ray has a feeling he doesn’t want to know just how dangerous it is to be landing out here, what with his vague memories of Fraser yammering on about ice crevasses and ground that splits under your feet, and what the hell did happen to Kowalski out here, anyway?).  It also seems like they’ve landed a million miles away from where they want to be, but Ray knows you can’t just drop an airplane on top of someone.

Ray squints through the glare of all that white, trying to pick out something that isn’t a rock or a stunted tree or—

“Over there!”

A man in a brown parka, slogging through the snow, trailed by three dogs—no, make that two dogs and one half-wolf, because that’s got to be Diefenbaker who’s suddenly pricked up his ears and started charging in Ray’s direction, barking his head off.  Fraser doesn’t seem to notice Dief or the men approaching him; he just keeps trudging doggedly forward, bowed under the bundle he carries over his shoulders—and shit, no, that’s not camping gear, that’s Kowalski’s body Benny’s lugging.

Ray yells, “Benny!” and starts to run, stumbling in the snow, falling on his face and scrambling to his feet, Diefenbaker barking urgently alongside.

He has to stand directly in front of Fraser to get him to stop walking, and for a second he thinks even that’s not going to be enough and Fraser’s just going to knock him over and keep going.  But Fraser does stop, practically nose-to-nose with Ray, and stands there blinking at him.

“Benny!  Are you all right?”  Ray almost grabs him in a hug, but there’s something about the blank look in Fraser’s eyes that keeps him at arms’ length.  In fact, Fraser so totally doesn’t respond to him that Ray wonders for a second whether he’s gone blind, like that one time they got stuck in the woods, or maybe deaf.

“Come on, Benny.  It’s okay, we’ve got you.  Time to come home now.”  He takes Fraser’s elbow in both his mittened hands and tries to tug him in the direction of the plane, but Fraser’s feet are planted now and Ray can’t budge him.

“It’s the wrong motto,” rasps Fraser, in that matter-of-fact tone he has.  “Actually, that business about always getting our man isn’t even the official motto, I don’t know why people insist on it.  But that’s not important right now.”

“You’re right, it’s not,” says Ray, still tugging.  “Absolutely not.  Come on, now.”

“My father never left a man behind.  He brought in criminals if he had to carry them himself, he would have given his life to protect a friend.”

“Yeah, he was a great guy.  Listen, you’re okay now, let’s get you somewhere warm, okay?”

“The least a friend can do is—“

“Fraser!” Ray yells at the top of his voice.  That stops the flow of words for a second, but Fraser’s jaw sets stubbornly like he’s for Christ’s sake going to start _arguing_ with Ray now.

Ray takes Fraser’s chin between his hands and forces him to look into Ray’s face, just like Fraser does with Diefenbaker when he’s trying to make a point.

“Benny, listen to me.  It’s over, you’ve done your duty.  You brought them to safety, see, the plane’s right over there, we’re all going to go back to town.  You, me, Dief, your dogs.  Kowalski.  You don’t have to keep going.  You’re done.”

“Oh, good,” says Fraser, and crumples to the ground.

 

                     *                                                *                                                *

 

Fraser wakes to the smell of disinfectant and illness; soft whirs and pings of machines running nearby, a TV or radio playing in the distance.  Fluorescent light, white ceiling.  He aches, so thoroughly that he can hardly locate specific sources of discomfort.  The air on his skin is warm enough, but he feels numb inside.

“Benny?” says a familiar voice nearby.  Ray Vecchio’s face comes into view.  He’s unshaven and there are circles under his eyes, but he looks otherwise undamaged.  He smiles at Fraser with worried eyes.

Fraser can’t bring himself to say Ray’s name, so instead he whispers, “I thought you were in Florida.”

“Oh, I was, and let me tell you, all this snow you’ve got up here is making it clear to me exactly how much man was meant to live in an environment of sunshine and beaches.  No offense to Canada.”

“But. . .”  Framing the simple question seems like too much effort at the moment, and Fraser finds he doesn’t care all that much about how or why Ray got here.

“Listen, Benny.”  Ray leans in closer, his eyes soft with concern.  “We’ve got to stop meeting like this, huh?  Next time it’ll be my turn to wake up in the hospital with you sitting next to me, and I’m too old for that shit, you know?”

“Understood.” 

“Okay.  Good.  Here, look, you want some water?”

“Please.”  His hands are shaking too badly to hold the cup that Ray offers, so Ray helps him drink, small greedy sips until the cup is empty.

“Better?” asks Ray.

“Mm.” His body appreciates the water, but it’s largely academic.

“How’re you feeling?  You want I should find a doctor or someone?”

“Not right now.”

“Okay.”  Ray’s still hovering over him, perhaps unsure of what to do with himself.

“I. . .”

“Yeah, Benny?”

“How did I. . . ?  I have no idea. . .I seem to remember. . .I thought. . .you were there.  On the ice fields.  Talking to me.”

“I was there, yeah.  I came with the rescue plane to find you.”

“Oh.  How did. . .”  He shakes his head.  He has a vague memory of the radio being lost, along with the sled and most of the supplies, but he can’t think about it too hard, or the black hole in the ice will suck him under.

“I’m not sure. . .” he begins again.  “What parts were real.”

Ray looks miserable and lays his hand gently over Fraser’s.  Ray’s hand is shockingly warm, but Fraser starts to shiver.

“If you’re asking about Kowalski. . .I’m sorry, Benny, but he’s dead.  They went back and looked around, after they brought you in.  It sounds like your sled went through the ice, into freezing water.  You must have been on skis when it happened, there were tracks.  Kowalski went into the water.  The dogs too.  You must have managed to haul them out, but. . .he didn’t make it.”

Fraser nods.

“Dief’s all right, though,” Ray adds hastily.  “Docs wouldn’t let him in here while you were out cold, but once they move you out of intensive care, you can see him.”

Fraser nods again.  The news does ease some of the tightness in his chest, and he knows that it should make him glad, but he feels very remote from it.

“His—the body?” he asks.

“You brought it back,” says Ray, soothingly.  “The local Mountie outpost is. . .taking care of it.  Until arrangements can be made.  Stella says you should do what you want to do, you know, about arrangements.  Or we can handle it, if you’d rather.”

“I’d rather. . .not think about it right now.”

“That’s okay, Benny.  That’s totally okay.  It can wait.”

It’s true.  There is absolutely nothing, now, that cannot wait indefinitely.  Fraser closes his eyes, hoping that sleep will take him back.

But Ray is still talking.  “Benny.  Benny, look at me.”

It’s a small enough thing to do, if it will please Ray, so Fraser does it.

“Listen. . .I don’t know if you’re up for this right now, but I think there isn’t much time left, so I’m just gonna have to lay it on you.”  But he doesn’t seem to be able to say whatever it is he wants to say.  After some moments of working his mouth silently, he shakes his head and shrugs a little.  “Look, someone wants to see you, all right?  It’s important and I—I think you’ll be glad you did.”

He hurries out of the room and returns a few moments later with Stella Kowalski—no, Stella Vecchio, now, Fraser mentally corrects himself.  She looks uncomfortable and unhappy, and after a brief initial glance, she doesn’t even look at him; she just stands in the doorway staring off into space.  Fraser turns a bewildered look at Ray, who is watching him intently but says nothing.

“. . . _fucking kidding me_. . .” says a faint voice, the voice Fraser wants most in the world to hear.  His head whips around, but he sees nothing but the empty hospital chair, the small table with the glass of water, the wall.

_“Fraser!”_

Maybe this is the proof that he’s slipped off the edge of insanity at last, but really, it hardly matters, and he knows damned well that that’s Ray Kowalski calling him.

“Ray,” he says, reaching out a hand towards empty air. 

“God, Fraser, thank God, you can see me.”  And Fraser _can_ see him, now.  Ray is indistinct and blurry around the edges, like a reflection in a window, but he’s there, green parka with the hood thrown back revealing matted-flat sandy hair and deepset eyes that are fixed on Fraser’s face.

“Ray, I—” His voice clogs with tears. 

“Fraser, listen to me.  I ain’t got time; wasn’t sure I’d be able to hang on ‘till you woke up, but I had to see you.”

“Ray, I’m sorry. . .”

“Yeah, me too, buddy.  But listen, you can’t blame yourself.  You’re beating yourself up ‘cause you think it was your fault, and I know how that goes, but you just can’t do that.  Okay?  It was an accident, nothing either of us could do, and if you think I’d be happier right now if you’d followed me into the water, you’re past unhinged and into stupid, fucking lunatic.”

Fraser shakes his head helplessly, unable to speak, his hand still reaching uselessly out as if he could ever touch Ray again.

“I wanted to be there,” says Ray, soft and intense, leaning forward until Fraser ought to be able to feel hot breath on his face, but there’s nothing to feel.  “You gotta believe that, Fraser.  I knew the risks, you explained them to me, and I chose to go on that adventure with you, because I wanted to.  And hell, I absolutely did not want to die, but at least I went out on a high note, you know?  I was having the time of my life out there with you, I haven’t been that happy—” He glances past Fraser for an instant, over to Stella in the doorway, gives her a little nod.  “Well, in a long while, anyway.  You gave me that, and I don’t want you ever to regret it.”

“I was happy, too,” Fraser manages, and is rewarded with a shy, sweet smile. 

“You hang onto that thought,” Ray says.  “And Fraser, you find a way to get back to that happy place.  I couldn’t stand the thought of you being miserable or, or, or alone, you know?”

“I am alone.”  The words spill out of his mouth without his volition.  “I’m always alone.”

“No, Benny,” comes Ray Vecchio’s voice from behind him.  “Don’t say that.”

But Fraser’s eyes are glued on Ray Kowalksi, who is shaking his head vehemently.

“No, see, this is the thing.  You’ve had a whole lot of shitty luck, but that don’t mean it’s your destiny to be alone or some crap.  You deserve to be happy, Fraser.  I wanted to be the one to give that to you, but guess what, it turns out my luck’s lousy, too.  But you gotta promise me you’ll keep on that quest.  Quest for Fraser’s Happy Place.  You can’t give up.”

He wants to say, _I’m too tired, it’s too hard, it’s been too long and I just want to go home, please, Ray, take me home._ But Ray’s eyes are boring into him—pleading, frightened. . .and loving, full of a love deep enough to drown them both.  And Ray is fading; he’s little more than brushstrokes, now, except for his face, which is still clear enough to express all the feelings that Fraser has never had words or time to articulate.

“Promise me,” whispers Ray.

And Fraser can only nod and say, “I promise.  I won’t give up.”

Ray slumps in relief, touches his fingers to his lips, and holds them out towards Fraser.  “Thank you,” he says, his voice thin as a radio station caught at the edge of transmission range.  “I’ll see you on the other side.  Cross my heart.”

And Ray is gone.

And Fraser can do nothing but cry, silent and shuddering, all the tears he hasn’t shed since he was six years old pouring out of him. 

Ray Vecchio sits on the bed beside him, his arm around Fraser’s shoulders, pulling him close, saying soothing nonsense syllables.  The mattress dips as someone sits on his other side— _Ray!_ he thinks wildly, but no, it’s Stella Kowalski/Vecchio.  She pats his back gingerly, then starts rubbing gently between his shoulderblades as he sobs.

“He loved you,” she whispers, and Ray Vecchio says in his other ear, “We’ve got you, we’re right here, we’ve got you now.”

 _I want to go home_.  But the ice fields and black water already seem as far away as Chicago, as his mother’s embrace.  All that’s left is here and now: a place he used to love, his friends holding him, and a promise.  It will have to be enough.


End file.
